


How I Do

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Character Study, Cute Immortal Husbands, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Immortal Husbands, Joe Is a Romantic About Nicky Because Duh, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: Another hotel room the day Joe and Nicky fly out to Morocco to meet up with the others.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 93
Kudos: 1273





	How I Do

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, Netflix, for giving me yet another five idiots to fall in love with. Title from Frank Ocean.
> 
> I have only watched the film earlier today and I have no knowledge of the comics.

He's been here before so many times that history barely has room to contain him. Them.

What has definitely always been old as dirt is spitting bullets out of his forehead and cheek and other places he'd rather not consider too closely—not so much for anything as ridiculous as squeamishness, but rather due to the old adage of there being a time and a place for all things and, in this case, all thoughts. He's forgotten that at times; slips up and gets caught up in the moment often enough Nicky has to remind him some things are for later. Literally spitting out a chunk of bullet after they've neatly dispatched everyone is a good reminder of their priorities, though the act in itself probably shouldn't be business as usual for any human person. Here they are anyway.

Nicky's eyes shine brightly in the odd light of the room, checking in as usual, perhaps knowing that the blue-green of them is the beacon Joe instinctively searches for before anything else. They never distract him. When they have a purpose, and they still _do_ have a purpose, it's what he needs to keep going.

But then Andy shows them how their purpose can change, for a time, maybe for always, but definitely for right now.

If this weren't all potentially troublesome and dangerous in the long-run, Joe'd appreciate the mystery of it all. After all, there's little to keep people like them either intrigued or entertained anymore. Nothing truly has for decades, other than each other.

*

Two days ago they were ordering champagne at three in the afternoon in a nice hotel room in the most touristy part of Istanbul. Their flight to Morocco doesn't leave until nearly midnight, and Nicky likes TV. Correction: Nicky likes shitty TV, especially the trashy daytime variety. That, and unrealistically-choreographed action films.

He also likes getting baklava fresh and losing juvenile bets to Booker. All in all, it's endearing. Although, truth be told, everything about him is at least a little bit endearing.

Joe's a softy, what can he say.

For himself, he enjoys chilled champagne with a view overlooking a sun-dappled crowd of noisy, living people. A TV in the background, he has to admit, certainly never gets old. Seventy years of it or whatever, and it has yet to lose its appeal. A useful distraction for the hotel staff, too. Over a thousand years, and Nicky still is a noisy fucker.

Swanky hotels like this one have air conditioning in every room. Even the employees might get it, Joe has no clue, but it does mean they get to latch all the windows and close the doors to the balcony. It's a level of privacy he always appreciates.

Flying especially gets them both a little antsy for no particular reason. It's not like they can die in a plane crash. But the unnaturalness of it weighs on Joe, and Nicky might feel it as well. So they spend the hours after a light lunch entangled on the settee in the front of a telenovela. The kisses come easily. Nicky tastes like espresso and apricot marmalade on a freshly-baked croissant. Joe has no idea what his own mouth tastes like to him after the champagne bubbles have gone, but it must taste like Nicky after a while. He licks in comfortably, lazily, until his shoulders get pressed to the back of the settee and he ends up with a lapful of Nicky settling in.

If they would have grown up these days, maybe as kids of the eighties or nineties, they could have had this. Dry humping in front of a television set in one of their parents' living rooms while the adults were away. Something innocent about the inexperience of it all, the casual intimacy. But if they had grown up now it's possible they would have never met, and that's a reality Joe can't even _imagine_ living in.

But, once again, there is a time and a place for those kinds of thoughts, usually in the early hours of the morning, the sun not yet truly up, after an especially harsh loss they couldn't turn around.

Right now, he's thanking whatever deity there is, a fleeting wave of gratitude, for blessing him in this way. His hips rise up to rock against Nicky's, and Joe turns out to be the noisy one for a long moment, a harsh groan pressing itself against Nicky's mouth.

"Così," he moans right back, his eyes closed. Joe misses his eyes already, the clearness of them. He focuses on his lashes like delicate webs hiding puzzles Joe wants to solve.

They work their jeans open enough to get close. Pressing kisses to his templates a little desperately, a swarm of butterflies against skin, Nicky allows him to take them both out. It's hardly a surprise Joe's leaking already, and he licks his lips almost compulsively when he sees Nicky is, too. As if it's their first time all over again, although that went quite differently if his memory is to be trusted.

He then grips them both, Nicky's hands at his shoulders for leverage, and strokes me slowly, gets a rhythm going, all the while the drama in the background hides their heavy breathing and gruff sounds. Nicky's thighs splayed around him tremble shift as he tries to thrust into Joe's hand. Joe licks inside his mouth to quell the desperation, though he knows, like his, nothing could. He tries his best with his tongue.

They each had two glasses of bubbles, so they don't last as long as they usually would. Neither minds. Joe wipes at the mess with his own shirt. When he's done, he finds Nicky has been watching him, his breathing barely levelling out to normal. He presses close, foreheads touching, and Joe tries to keep his eyes open to watch him. He never tires of watching him.

"Hai il sapore di me," Nicky mutters, his lips a breath away. He licks at them, and they shine in the sunshine of the room.

Joe swallows. "Il sapore della felicità," he whispers back.

"You've always been a romantic," Nicky chides him, but it's barely a tease.

They nap soon enough in preparation for the flight and the next day ahead.

*

But it's not two days ago. It's now. Right now. And there's another one of them coming to them in their dreams, one Nicky feels for as strongly as he can feel, which is sometimes too much for this world, but it's more than enough for it to ring true, that they have to find her, scared and alone as she is.

Joe remembers what being alone is like. It's a nightmare he loathes above all else.

He may have forgotten much over the centuries, memories fading into each other over the years he's walked this earth, but he remembers the loneliness well enough.

They'll find her. They always find each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, a language I speak and can use in fic! :D
> 
> "Così." = Like that.
> 
> "Hai il sapore di me." = You taste like me.
> 
> "Il sapore della felicità." = The taste of happiness.
> 
> Like Joe, I, too, am a romantic about these two idiots.
> 
> Of course comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I live for that mushy shit. *wink*
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
